[Wait...you...you can rember all of that?,] Hurricroak asked in a strangely sad, almost pleading voice.
[Mostly,] Tortallion answered. [I couldn’t before, but...circumstances changed and now I rember it more and more...but it’s like a dream...]
________________________________________
*Bing-Bong*
We interrupt this chapter to inform the reader that the narrative style for this chapter will be done in the manner of a fairy tale.
This is to better convey the way Tortallion rembers his old life, i.e., less like reality and more like a dream.
We thank you for your understanding and now return to your regularly scheduled chapter.
Thank you.
*Bing-Bong*
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Once upon a ti, there was a quaint little fishing village on the coastline.
Its populace could be counted on the hands of ten people, nobody ever went hungry and where everyone was all involved in the art of fishing in so capacity.
n would go out with big nets, won would use spear and reels, while the children learned to make hooks and bait.
In terms of protection, the village only had a handful of volunteer warriors and an old retired knight, who promised to protect the people for a belly full of fish, and teach their children the ways of the world and warrior for a jug of spirits that would never empty.
As such, a child of the village would be sent with the promised goods to the old knight, so that they could learn from him.
For all intents and purposes, it was a quaint fishing village in the middle of nowhere...but it had a secret.
Deep in the waters beneath the village shore, there was a treasure. A treasure of such imnse value and power that it would enable the one who claid the power to churn the seas and flip over mountains...or at least, allow them to find(create) soone who could.
This treasure was unknown to the villagers and if they did, they wouldn’t care.
All they cared about was getting in the next big haul and getting through the hard months on full stomachs.
However, fate had other plans in mind.
In the lands beyond the village shore, an emperor and a warlord were in talks with one another about wanting to take over the world together.
Of course, such ambitions required a multitude of resources.
Food.
Weapons.
Armor.
Labor.
Soldiers.
In order to acquire such resources though, blood had to be spilt and lives had to be taken.
It was a warm sumr day in the quaint little fishing village, the kind of day that promised a big haul and an even bigger feast that evening.
As soon as the villagers had finished their preparations though, tragedy struck.
Just as the fishern were about to ship off, a small army of calvaryn carry the banner of the warlord, ca charging towards their village.
No warning was given, no diplomacy was offered, all that occurred was...a slaughter.
The old knight and the volunteer fighters did their best to resist, but fell in battle against the vastly superior soldiers.
Anyone who resisted was slain on the spot.
Anyone who surrendered was enslaved.
Every hut and building was burned to cinders and rubble, every scrap of food was stolen and anything remotely valuable was looted for either personal glory or to fatten soone else’s pocket.
For all intents and purposes, this quaint little fishing village just beca another na in the history books. On a coldly calculated list marked simply as..."Casualties, Unknown".
...
At least...that’s how the story would’ve ended, had it not been due to that aforntioned old knight.
...
Before tragedy struck, one of the daughters of the fishern was tasked with delivering so food and drink to the old knight. By pure happenstance, this girl had arrived monts before tragedy struck and was a girl that had grown the closest to the old knight.
It was thanks to this close relationship that when the soldiers ca to lay waste to their small village, the knight managed to get her to hide in the cellar for safety, as opposed to running out into the open and making herself an obvious target.
The girl hid away for heavens know how long, the sound of angry shouts, wails of despair and the crackling of flas acting as her dented lullaby.
She prayed for the sounds to stop, she prayed for the safety of her family.
...
Hours later, silence ca and the girl took the risk of popping her head out of the cellar. What she saw was too terrible for re words to describe.
In place of the warm huts she had played in alongside other children, were smoldering ashes.
The small little dock where a fleet of trusty fishing vessels once rested, was now nothing more than splintered timbers and lines in the sand.
As for the people...as far as she could tell, she was the only one left.
The girl wandered about the ruined village, fury, sadness and grief going wild in the deepest recesses of her soul.
All of which ca to a head when she saw what remained of her family, her friends and her ntor.
With nothing but a shield made from a turtle’s shell as the only proof that the latter existed.
At that point, she couldn’t help but to release a scream that was filled with so much pain, so much sadness, so much raw [Emotion] and [Desire] that one couldn’t help but to be moved.
And sothing did move.
From the remains of her village, a large and mysterious [Library] arose from the depths and blessed(cursed) her with a strange power. A power that had been both reviled and praised across the world.
And it was with this power that she dared to tread into the domain of the gods and brought one of her fallen loved ones back.
Using the shield as an anchor, the girl uttered the words that would change not only her life, but the world at large.
[In the na of the Kaijin Lord, I bring your soul back from Chaos. Arise, Sir Tortallion, and raise your shield in my defense once more.]
[ROAR! TORTALLION HEEDS THE CALL OF THE KAIJIN LORD!]
And it was here, that the saga of the Storm Queen began.
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[At least... that’s what I think I rember,] Tortallion told Hurricroak and Frosttusk. [I recall failing to protect the village, that my body couldn’t withstand the blow that my shield mostly blocked and that when I finally faded away into the eternal darkness of death...I was fully brought back into the light. With eyes that weren’t quite mine anymore, in a body that felt both familiar and foreign all at once.]
[Whoa.]
[...]
Hurricroak and Frosttusk were both stunned silent at Tortallion’s story.
Whether this was due to them being impressed by the sheer insanity behind his creation, or the fact that his experience was familiar to them was...unknown. However, there was sothing in the story that bothered one of the listening kaijin. Naly, a missing detail.
[Wait...Sir Tortallion, may I ask a question?]
[You may...Hurricroak, right?]
[Yes,] Hurricroak nodded. [Your story was quite...heart wrenching to say the least, and provides so rather necessary context as to why Undertow exists...but...how co when you referred to your old self, you called yourself "old knight" and not...a na? I an, if it was you, wouldn’t it make sense to refer to yourself by na?]
[Ah, that,] Tortallion nodded, expecting this question. [Well, I suppose I can give you two reasons as to why. For starters, my mory as of late has been...hazy. I rember my current na of Tortallion, since that is what everyone here knows as, but my old na had only been known to one other person and that person is no longer here.]
[Oh...]
[What...of...the...second...reason?,] Frosttusk asked.
[Well...to put it into perspective...it’s because I don’t really...feel like I’m him. Or rather, was him.]
[Huh?]*2
Evidently, Hurricroak and Frosttusk was viciously confused at this statent. How the fuck can this old turtle say that, after giving them an incredibly long story that pertained to his past life as a human.
Thankfully, he explained himself.
[I suppose I should elaborate...it’s like this. I can rember everything I’ve done, from my life as Tortallion. I can rember everything that the old knight has done, but...there’s this strange feeling of disconnect. Like I’m reading the story of soone else’s life, like I’m watching a play of sobody else. As such, despite knowing these mories and feeling like they are a part of , they feel more like the dreams of soone else. Can I really call such mories my own? Can I really say that I was the old knight, when I can’t get that sa emotional connection that I do with my own mories as Tortallion?]
[Ah...]
Evidently, Frosttusk and Hurricroak knew exactly what feeling the old turtle was talking about...and knew how to respond.
Sort of.
[Well...in our experience...]
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